Shadow Over Kiriath

  Briellen flashed a nasty glance at Madeleine. “Perhaps you should ask her.”

  “Bree, she is not responsible for those rumors.”

  “No? Why don’t you ask her about how she gave him her token before he faced the morwhol? Why don’t you ask her when’s the last time she’s been to his study? The last time she’s found herself in his arms?” She glared at Maddie. “Maybe only yesterday?”

  Maddie stared in blank-minded shock. How did she know? There was no one there! But there must have been. Because obviously she did know.

  Leyton rolled his eyes in exasperation. “As well as ask you about the love letters you’re exchanging with Lord Geoffrey. It’s all nonsense. Abramm is not a bad man. From what I’ve seen, he has treated you kindly and with respect.”

  “He’s cold and stuffy and lacks all sense of humor. More than that, he’s hideous! Those scars! How do you expect me to fulfill my marital duties when I can hardly bear to look at him, let alone have him touch me?”

  “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “And you’re giving me a death sentence by forcing me to marry him.”

  “Well, we all sacrifice as we have opportunity for the good of the realm. Isn’t that what you wanted? And we need this alliance.”

  “You said we only needed the regalia—”

  “I did not say that. I said we might be able to use them.”

  She turned away from him. “Oh, just go, both of you!”

  But before either of them could move, she whirled on Maddie again. “I know what you’re doing. On the road today, Leona told me everything.”

  “Briellen, please—”

  “What? Are you going to deny it all again? Tell me that you still haven’t been to his study since I arrived?” Briellen shook her head with a look of disgust. “You’re a terrible liar, Mad.”

  “Eidon’s mercy, Bree. I’ve done nothing.”

  “Nothing? You’ve made him fall in love with you, and you call it nothing?”

  Maddie gaped at her, shocked out of the ability to find her tongue.

  “Oh, and there you stand looking stunned, as if you haven’t the faintest notion what I’m talking about.” Briellen’s expression turned abruptly feral. “Get out of my sight, you little slut! I never want to see you again!” With that she turned away and flung herself back onto the chair.

  CHAPTER

  22

  Maddie returned to her own rooms by the back route, too upset to risk meeting anyone who might speak to her. Her emotions felt as if they’d been riding on a ship caught in ferocious seas, first climbing high to balance on a pinnacle of wonder, then dropping fast and deep into a dark trough of looming disaster.

  “You’ve made him fall in love with you.”

  Her first inkling of his true feelings had come with that incident in his chambers yesterday, when she’d stood there in his arms, breathless and lightheaded as he’d stroked her hair; when she’d let him tip her face up to meet his searing blue eyes. His fingers had sparked little tingles of Light as they traveled up her cheek and across her nose, while she’d wondered if she’d fallen into another dream.

  And then he’d wished she’d not been born Second Daughter. She thought he was going to kiss her, and she’d wanted him to, even as another part of her shrieked for her to flee before all was lost.

  As if it weren’t already.

  They’d been interrupted, of course, and she had fled, though obviously not in time. Fled out to a leafy bower in the tea garden where she could sit unseen to touch her face where he had touched it and dream of his lips upon hers . . . even as she remonstrated with herself for indulging in such insanity. What could possibly come of such a thing but disaster and heartache? Was she ready to cast all her integrity aside and take the roll of mistress? In direct violation of Eidon’s very clear commands? More than that, was he? No. Never.

  She knew him that well, at least.

  But it took her a long while to talk herself out of her craziness, vowing never to let herself get into a situation like that with him again. Then the warning of a possible Esurhite attack had come and she’d actually felt relief, knowing he would be occupied and she’d have no reason to interact with him. Except there’d been no Esurhite attack, it had been Katahn ul Manus, whom she’d heard about and read about for years. Here, in the flesh, the former owner of the White Pretender.

  She’d fought with herself over going to meet him, for surely it meant an encounter with the king. But it was in public, and she’d had good reason to ignore Abramm as she focused on Katahn, so it had not gone badly. But then came the disastrous reception, which she was now kicking herself for suggesting. Blackwell had claimed the king wanted the ballad of the White Pretender to be performed in Katahn’s honor, but no one was in town who could do it. In retrospect she could not imagine what she’d been thinking when she’d agreed. Was it a desire to see the Gamer’s response? To please the king? To prove to herself she was completely composed and able to do whatever duty required? Or was there something deeper and more powerful at work—a hidden, perverse desire to elaborate on the song the two of them had begun the day before in his study with the bedgown token.

  Whatever the reason, she had agreed, then got such a case of stage fright she feared she’d be unable to sing at all. But when the song began, when the melody had caught her and the story unfolded and she’d given herself over to it, she had inadvertently tapped into her own deepest longing. In so doing, she’d bared her soul to all of them, and worse, to him. Before she knew it, her eyes had come up and she saw only Abramm, who stared back at her as one enspelled.

  The degree to which the courtiers had responded afterward surprised her almost as much as Abramm’s impassivity. Receiving from him naught but that one expressionless nod of commendation, she might have thought he’d hated it—if she hadn’t known him as well as she did. That degree of stoicism usually meant he’d been deeply stirred.

  Which was perhaps why Briellen’s accusation had hit her so hard.

  “You’ve made him fall in love with you.”

  She grew aware of the familiar surroundings of her quarters as if awakening from unconsciousness. One moment she had been hurrying down a dark, narrow stair and the next standing in the middle of her sitting room. Liza hovered nearby, watching her warily, and when at last Maddie looked up, dared to ask, “Are you well, milady?”

  “No, Liza. I’m really not.”

  “But I heard about yer singin’ fer the court and all. Heard it was wonderful. Like the luima themselves, they’re sayin’.”

  Maddie stared at her, hearing the words but not really registering them. She’s talking about that blasted song. How does she know? She wasn’t there. Does all the world know?

  “Ever’one’s talkin’ of it, milady,” Liza went on as if she’d heard her question. “Of what a sweet voice ye have. Touched by the Light, they’re sayin’. Wonderin’ why ye haven’t sung more.”

  With an inward groan Maddie walked from the sitting room toward her small bedchamber. Before she got there her attention was snagged by the book sitting on her desk. It was the one Byron Blackwell had returned to her after her ill-fated tea with Bree. She frowned now and touched her fingers to its title. I thought I put this back with the others. . . . Or had she brought it back up as part of the packing she’d started yesterday for possible evacuation? Surely not. For though she had planned to bring some of the books if she went, she wouldn’t have picked this one. Having discovered the hidden library, she no longer needed it. And in any case, she’d already had Philip take all those books back to the royal library.

  Still frowning, she picked it up. Things must not have been as she remembered, though, or it wouldn’t be here. I should put it back with the others. But that would mean a trip through the palace, and she’d have to pass by the Crimson Reception Hall to get there. Though I could take the back way. Still there was no reason to return it right now. Better to wait until morning, then slip down before people were awake.


  On the other hand, going now would give her a good excuse to be gone. She could take it back and maybe even stay to get in a few more hours of work. Already she was feeling the restless urge to flee, birthed by the expectation of hearing Leyton’s knock on her door at any moment. She’d put him off right after Briellen had banished them from her quarters, too upset to answer his questions just then. He was probably counting the minutes, waiting for her to calm down before he approached her again.

  Decision crystallized and she turned back to Liza. “Bring me your cloak.”

  Her maid stared at her in surprise, then hurried to her tiny room for her gray woolen cloak. As Maddie swirled it over her own shoulders, Liza’s eyes widened. “Ye be wearin’ it, milady?”

  “Aye, and you’re not to speak a word of this to anyone. I’ll be back later.

  If Leyton comes, tell him you haven’t seen me.”

  “Aye, miss.”

  Maddie pulled the cowl over her head, picked up the book, and slipped out the door, hoping that if the palace “eyes” could mistake Philip Meridon for herself, perhaps the reverse would be true, as well.

  She was halfway to the royal library when it dawned on her that if Leyton didn’t find her in her quarters, he’d guess immediately where she’d go. Suddenly certain he was already there, she slowed to a stop. He’d probably arrived at her quarters shortly after she’d left. She looked down at the book, trying to think what to do next and knowing she was more rattled than she wanted to admit. Maybe I should just go back to my rooms and go to bed.

  She turned abruptly and yelped in surprise as she nearly ran into Byron Blackwell, who lurched backward with a cry of his own. Then his eyes widened. “Lady Madeleine?”

  She felt her face grow hot. “I’m just returning this book.” She held it up, realizing as she did that she was now going in the wrong direction.

  “Ah . . .” His lips quirked as light flashed off his spectacles. “Well, I suppose I can understand why you might be wearing that cloak tonight. . . .”

  Her flush deepened. “I . . .” But all she could think was how foolish she must appear, a notion reinforced by his openly curious regard.

  Then he smiled. “That was a magnificent performance you gave tonight, my lady. I have to admit, when I asked you to do it, I thought the king had lost his mind.” The smile deepened. “Obviously he knew what the rest of us did not.”

  She stared at him, embarrassed by his praise and uneasy with the dual meaning that could be derived from his words.

  “I’m surprised you haven’t performed more often,” he added.

  “It is not fitting for members of the royal family to perform in public in Chesedh.”

  “Well, that is not the case here in Kiriath. I hope we’ll be hearing more from you.” With that he gave her a nod and continued on his way.

  Shortly thereafter she was hurrying past the back stair to the royal apartments when it occurred to her that she could drop the book off in the hidden library. That she could, in fact, even stay awhile. So far as she knew, only she, Abramm, Haldon, and Philip knew of its existence. There was sure to be no one up there now, for Abramm would still be involved with his reception and, if she knew him at all, would be up late into the night plying Katahn ul Manus with questions. And even when he did return, he’d have no reason to enter the library tonight. These days Philip was the only one who used it. She could slip in and no one would know she was there. Leyton wouldn’t be able to find her and perhaps she would have peace enough to think all this turmoil through.

  Part of her was aghast that she would even consider this. You cannot go into his chambers tonight. Are you insane? Do you want to ruin the treaty? If she was caught this time, Briellen would never forgive her. Or Abramm.

  But the voice of protest was weak before her growing desire to hide there.

  She turned and went back to stand at the foot of the stair. There’s sure to be a guard, though. How will I get past him? She looked at the book in her hand. It would be dark in that back hall. Phil had been coming and going regularly and at odd hours. . . . So long as she kept her face in the shadow . . .why wouldn’t he think she was Philip?

  Crazy as it was, the more she thought about it, the more she liked it. And as it turned out, when she eased the door open, the guard was gone. A dim light shone out of the servants’ wait room down the short hall, washing over the man’s form where he stood in that doorway, listening to the excited conversation of those within. She heard Haldon’s rumble and Jared’s higher tones intermingled with the unfamiliar voice of the one who had brought the gossip. She heard her name, Abramm’s . . . and then Briellen’s and felt her face flush again as her middle squirmed. The voices lowered, drawing the guard farther into the wait room, and she seized her chance, slipping into the hall and quietly closing the door behind her. Then she darted for the bedchamber.

  The voices grew louder and abruptly clearer. “He said Briellen thinks the king’s really in love with Lady Madeleine!”

  “Well, she’s not the only one to think that,” Haldon said dryly.

  Ears burning, Maddie hurried through the dark bedchamber into the study. The niche table and statuette had been replaced with a tapestry which she now lifted aside as she stepped through the wall behind. The cold-lard sensation of the illusion gave way to the dusty book-lined room she’d found weeks ago. Moonlight filtered through the tall windows at its far end, the weak light insufficient to penetrate very far into the shadows. It smelled mustier than she recalled, and there were no longer any books on the table, but her suspicion that the room had remained largely undisturbed since its discovery seemed accurate.

  Unwilling to make a kelistar for fear of being discovered, she made her way slowly and carefully toward the window. And as her excitement waned, she was struck with an almost overwhelming sense of Abramm’s presence. It was so intoxicating she wondered if perhaps, beneath all her other rationales, that was the real reason she’d talked herself into coming here. To be near him in the only way she could now.

  She sank down on the window seat, staring at the river with its nine bridges, chains of red-gold light arching across the dark surface, the barges drifting up and down between them. The wind rushed against the window and whined in the eaves, and from somewhere out of sight behind the palace, moonlight illuminated thin fingers of cloud spun out by the wind over the city.

  How can everything have gone so bad, so fast? How could Briellen believe those things?

  Because she heard your song tonight, perhaps? Because she saw the way he looked at you while you sang? The memory of that took her by storm, rolling sharp and vivid into her mind. She put her hands to her face, overwhelmed with the rush of emotion it evoked. In those moments it seemed he had seen her soul as she saw his, the two of them resonating together as if part of the same chord.

  A deep, aching sense of need and longing crept over her, tightening over her heart and chest until finally she bent over her lap and put her face in her hands, giving voice to her misery.

  “Oh, Father Eidon, sometimes I think I won’t be able to live another day if I can’t see his face and hear his voice, and I know that is wrong because he’s only a man and it’s you I should love more than all others, but . . . but I want him, my Lord. More than I have ever wanted anything.”

  She fell silent, and although her voice had been barely above a whisper, she felt suddenly aghast and embarrassed at how helpless she was before her own desires. But why does it feel so much in every way that he is the one you have made me for . . . when everything is against us ever being together? Am I just deluded?

  For a moment she sat there, listening to the wind outside, frustration like a hard lump in her throat. Then a new and startling thought formed in her mind: Do you want him so much, then, my daughter, that you’d give up your freedom to become his queen?

  She lifted her head, stunned. Was that an answer? Was that the choice she must make?

  Heart pounding, she stared blindly at the s
treamers of moonlit clouds drifting over the city.

  Of course it was the choice. What did she think? Even if somehow Abramm did not marry Briellen, he was still a king . . . in every sense of the word. Whoever he married, she would have to be his queen.

  The thought drove into her heart like a poniard of ice, and she hugged herself miserably, letting the tears come.

  ————

  Those in the Crimson Reception Hall remained in a state of frozen silence for what seemed a full minute after Briellen had stalked out with Trap on her heels. Then Maddie hurried after both of them, and people began to move again. Abramm sat on his throne, watching them blindly, wondering when he was going to start feeling something. That she had shocked him was an understatement. That she had hurt him . . . undeniable. To be told by a woman to your face, in front of more than half your courtiers, that the sight of you made her shiver with revulsion could hardly do less than hurt. And yet he felt nothing. In fact, if anything he felt a sense of satisfaction. Of rightness.

  Once they began to move, the courtiers began to talk, uttering quiet exclamations of astonishment, disbelief, and dismay. Those first drops swiftly became a torrent, as astonishment turned to indignation and indignation to outrage. Everyone had his rendition of what was said, his opinion of what was meant, and soon the room resounded with a roar of sound that Abramm finally silenced, offering to them his own view on the matter, which ultimately was the only one that mattered.

  “The Words command us to bear the burdens of others and forgive,” he said, his voice echoing over the crowd. “None of us knows what the princess has endured this day. Nor in the days preceding her arrival here, but it can’t have been easy nor pleasant. We are also commanded not to gossip and malign, and I will expect you to hold to that where this matter is concerned.”

  With that he decreed the party should continue, received a goodly number more of his courtiers in audience before finally taking leave of the group in the company of his closest advisors. Once alone in the gleaming halls, Simon sputtered with outrage of his own. “Forgiveness is all well and good, as is refraining from gossip. But plagues, Abramm, you cannot ignore a draft horse when it is standing in your sitting chamber. She had no right to—”